Page 11 of Under the Lights (The Big Boys of BRU #2)

Ten

Sierra

My pulse pounded to the beat of the music, my feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down the back of my neck.

I loved running — pushing myself to my limits, the burning in my lungs, and the runner’s high that would eventually set in.

Running cleared my head. It helped me think. The reason I was up at the crack of dawn was the lingering uneasiness I just couldn’t shake. I’d tossed and turned all night, like I had every night since making the big discovery. I needed to think.

And yet, I couldn’t. Every crevice of my mind was occupied, kept turning this thing over and over, numbing all other thoughts in a hazy storm. I pulled deep breaths in through my nose, trying to keep my breathing even and calm my whirling thoughts.

Despite the early hour of the day, the air was already thick, the humidity making my skin stickier than usual.

Not being able to think properly was turning into a much bigger issue. My focus needed to be spot-on. This was my last college season, my last chance to be recognized on such a huge platform.

My final shot to prove I belonged at the professional level. Everything I’d worked for was riding on this.

Yes, the season was weeks and weeks away, but I needed to be at the very top of my game. The off-season had its advantages, but I was already looking forward to the pre-season.

Although we had regular practices led by our captain, I could hardly wait to compete against other teams in real game situations again.

As I approached the final stretch of my run, I slowly began to slow down, eventually transitioning to a walk. Small strands of hair had escaped from my Dutch braids at the back of my neck and were now sticking to my sweaty skin.

My phone had buzzed a few times, but I wanted to finish my workout before I dealt with it. After the run, I had a few more core-strengthening exercises to complete.

The old brick sorority house came into view, its white columns standing out sharply against the soft glow of the rising sun. A neatly trimmed hedge lined the walkway, catching the first warm rays of morning light.

Porch lights still cast faint pools of golden glow onto the steps, and the quiet of early morning settled over the neighborhood like a soft blanket.

By the time I made it back from my run, my legs were aching, and my shirt clung to me like a second skin. I tugged it away from my back as I stepped inside, already craving a cold shower.

Maybe I’d squeeze in a yoga session beforehand to calm my racing thoughts down a bit.

I was still catching my breath when I stepped into the house, the AC blasting cold air against my sweat-damp skin. The entryway smelled like fresh paint — again. Someone must’ve decided we needed another coat on the accent wall. It was a soft blush color now.

Definitely new .

I paused to swipe sweat from my temple, my gaze drifting to the box on the side table. Versace . Tissue paper was still sticking out, as if it had just been opened.

In the kitchen, a sleek espresso machine — one I was pretty sure hadn’t been there last week — caught the morning light like a goddamn centerpiece. Industrial-sized. Chrome everything. The thing looked untouched.

That hadn’t been there before, right?

My gaze dropped to the polished marble tray in the entryway, which was stacked with boutique mailers and a Nordstrom box. One corner of a receipt peeked through the packaging.

I didn’t touch it, but I didn’t need to. I recognized the store name. It wasn’t cheap.

I didn’t want to be the girl doing mental math on her way to the shower, but even half-dehydrated, I knew something wasn’t adding up.

I shook my head, more out of habit than certainty. Maybe I’d just been too wrapped up in planning to notice before. Or maybe I was starting to pay attention in ways I hadn’t before.

On the way up to my room, I exchanged smiles with a couple of my sisters, who had made themselves comfortable in the living room. The now familiar uncomfortable feeling in my stomach immediately set in.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Unknown: You’re not going to like what happens if you keep snooping.

I swallowed hard. My smile froze mid-expression as I nodded at them. Keep cool. Don’t let it show.

Were any of them among those who were involved in the embezzlement? Ever since I had discovered these discrepancies and their possible origins, I no longer knew who I could trust, and that included my best friend.

I rolled out a yoga mat in my room and started my core workout, my thoughts spinning. Somehow I had to find out who was involved in this and find out what this was all about.

Could there be any explanation that had eluded me?

Breathing heavily, I lay on my back, my abs burning, but I welcomed the pain. My phone vibrated again, and this time I picked it up and glanced at the glowing screen. An email that had just hit my inbox was at the top, followed by the usual social media notifications.

I paused when I read the subject line.

Re: Event Budget Details

Narrowing my eyes, I held my phone over my face. It was sent from Jasmine’s email, who also happened to be our treasurer. I tapped on the notification and realized that I had been CC’d, in a thread addressed to one of the guys from David’s frat.

In addition to me, the email was sent to several of my sisters, as well as David and a couple of his frat brothers.

Subject: Re: Event Budget Details

Hey Brian,

Just wanted to check in on a few things before we finalize the plans for the charity event.

Vendor Invoices: I took a look at the invoices for The Lodge — Luxury Mountain Resort, and The Highland, and it looks like the numbers are a little higher than expected. You’re welcome to reach out if you need help adjusting the budget.

Future allocations: The donations and sponsorship numbers are looking good, but we might need to revisit some of the upcoming budget numbers for the next event. I’ll keep an eye on the miscellaneous expenses and make sure everything stays in line with what’s been approved.

Personal adjustments: I know Aria was asking about the additional spending for the upcoming gala, and I’m planning to make sure all the numbers are aligned before submitting everything. Should we consider any adjustments to our figures based on the final guest list?

Let me know if you have any concerns or need anything tweaked before I submit the finalized budget. We want to make sure everything goes smoothly.

Jasmine

Blinking in disbelief, I stared at the words in front of me.

What the fuck was this? What did a luxury hotel and a high-end restaurant have to do with our charity event? The numbers were a bit higher than expected?

They shouldn’t fucking be there at all!

I re-read the email, looking for clues that I might have missed the first time. Obviously, this wasn’t direct evidence, but when I combined it with what I’d discovered in the spreadsheet and our expenses, it became slightly more substantial.

“Miscellaneous Expenses” raised red flags for me — it was so vague, reinforcing my suspicions that the funds were being tampered with. And what was the deal with the “Adjustments” and “Additional Spending”?

There was no explanation of what these entailed, which may not have been obvious to anyone else, but I had reason to question it.

The email was so casual and normal that I would never have suspected anything had I not already been suspicious. It could pass for a standard event planning email, but I knew better. The clues indicating the funds were being used for other purposes would perhaps escape others, but not me.

I was also pretty sure that I should never have received this email. It suggested that this group had had previous conversations and meetings that I wasn’t privy to.

Obviously, for good reason. I would never be involved in shit like this.

As I began to understand the full scope of the situation, I slowly lowered my phone. This wasn’t just about small amounts here and there. If I was correct, both my sorority and David’s frat had been siphoning off huge amounts of donations meant for local causes and our own events.

Instead, they’d treated themselves to expensive trips, lavish meals, designer clothes, and even paid for renovations or expensive items for their homes … like an industrial coffee machine.

I threw my hands over my head. The realization of what this meant, that people I had trusted, people I had lived in close quarters with, were pulling a full-blown scam to enrich themselves, made me sick to my stomach.

And all under the guise of “helping others” and “sponsoring charities”.

Did they have no conscience ? No values?

Blankly, my chest hollow and empty, I stared at the ceiling. What was even more interesting now … what the fuck would I do?